Behold the mysterious filter arrow - one of the main attractions at The Town Comes to Country Show.
Recently, the A and P Show rolled into Christchurch.
It was promoted, as always, as the moment when the country comes to town.
Sheep are shorn, tractors are polished, and city folk pretend they know the difference between a Hereford and an Angus.
It is a tradition, a rite of passage, and a chance to buy candy floss the size of your head.
But it got me thinking.
What would happen if we flipped the whole thing and created a new event entirely?
I give you, The Town Comes to Country Show.
Imagine it.
A field day held not for showcasing the best cattle, the strongest rams, or the most impressive pumpkins. No.
This time, the farmland hosts a celebration of every urban behaviour and big city quirks that country people observe only during city trips to the mall.
If the A and P Show is a tribute to rural skill and grit, then the Town Comes to Country Show would be a tribute to flat whites, traffic lights, and the fascinating creature known as the city driver.
The first attraction would hit you before you even arrive. Traffic congestion. Kilometres of cars crawling towards the gates.
It would be billed as an interactive exhibit, a chance for rural folk to experience what city people call a normal Tuesday morning.
Visitors could sit in their vehicles for 30 minutes, move forward 3m, and then sit again.
There would even be a Merge Challenge, where no one lets you in, no matter how politely you indicate.
Once inside the showgrounds, punters would be drawn to the Urban Ute Display.
These vehicles look like proper workhorses at first glance, but a closer inspection reveals not a speck of dirt.
The tray has never seen a bale of hay. The tyres have never rolled across anything rougher than a Mitre 10 car park.
The Jesus handles, normally used for steadying yourself on rugged terrain, are now hangers for oversized puffer vests that make the wearer look like a person rescued from the ocean.
These are not utes in the traditional sense. They are cute fashion accessories with a tow bar.
Naturally, RM Williams would sponsor part of the show.
There would be a parade of boots so clean you could eat your lunch off them.
These boots have never stepped in a real paddock unless that paddock was at the urban polo.
They shine with a level of polish that suggests their owners clean them more often than their moisturised and manicured hands.
Country residents might be confused at first, but eventually they would accept that these boots are not for farm work. They are for brunch.
Another crowd favourite would be the Traffic Light Pavilion.
This exhibit would feature a full-sized traffic light that changes colour with perfectly timed precision.
Visitors would be transfixed, watching the sequence with a mix of curiosity and frustration.
There would be a special section dedicated to the mysterious filter arrow.
Everyone has heard of it, yet few have ever witnessed it turning green at the moment they need it.
The exhibit would run exactly as it does in the city, changing at the worst possible moment.
For anyone interested in big city culture, there would be a cafe tent offering real urban experiences.
Baristas would serve flat whites made with at least three different types of milk. The queue would move slowly.
A reusable keep-cup discount would be advertised, but never actually applied.
Patrons could enjoy the sound of someone loudly ordering a turmeric latte while describing their new start-up idea.
The entertainment stage would bring true city drama to the countryside.
The headline act could be a trio of DJs spinning obscure vinyl records you’ve never heard of, each scratching and beat-matching with the intensity of someone defending their favourite artisanal coffee roast.
Nearby, a collective of experimental sound artists might perform using kitchen utensils, broken instruments, and random objects, creating a soundtrack that is equal parts confusing and annoying.
There could even be a silent disco where participants wear noise-cancelling headphones, dancing passionately to music only they can hear, leaving the rest of the crowd staring in bewilderment.
No city show would be complete without poetry, where performers read verses about the ethics of oat milk. And a cover of Wagon Wheel is nowhere to be heard.
The fashion tent would be another highlight.
It would showcase clothing that looks practical but is entirely useless.
Jackets engineered to survive blizzards and monsoons yet are only worn when the weather forecast predicts the faintest drizzle.
Sneakers that are so expensive they could buy a small farm animal.
The Town Comes to Country Show would give rural people a glimpse of city society and remind them they don’t know how lucky they are.
Utes and boots were made for mud, for paddocks and rough tracks.